


we’re living in another world

by witty_kitty



Series: they ain’t never gonna catch us [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dubious Consent, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Hurt And Some Comfort, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Quiet Sex, Rutting, Schlatt POV, Somnophilia, Wilbur is definitely still not okay, a little bit more definite mention of when they were gods, and neither is Schlatt either if we’re being honest, but they didn’t talk about it beforehand, its angsty, not a lot, now with a side of communication issues bc nobody wants to share their feelings properly, thigh fucking, this one is sadder boys, this one’s a bit rushed; sorry if it’s bad, vaguely unhealthy relationship, wilbur’s chill with it when he wakes up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28752471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witty_kitty/pseuds/witty_kitty
Summary: Wilbur and Schlatt build a house and have part of an important talk.(Or, a little snippet into their life, living off the grid in the woods.)
Relationships: Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot
Series: they ain’t never gonna catch us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2062644
Comments: 22
Kudos: 212





	we’re living in another world

**Author's Note:**

> notes:
> 
> \- Wilbur did still ask Phil to stab him, but Schlatt doesn’t know this. It doesn’t come up rn but it will soon.  
> \- Schlatt definitely doesn’t know the extent of Wil’s mental health problems. (The power of love does not stop PTSD and depression :( but I don’t want to bring it up in a smut fic)  
> \- I have not forgotten about the alcoholism, but it’s shelved right now. Schlatt has already gone through his withdrawal symptoms, but it’ll probably be the focus of a diff. fic.  
> \- this verse is probably going to have more gen fics (still untagged mind you)

Schlatt curses as he slices down another zombie, nearly dropping the bundle of logs as he marches through dark oak forest and back to his and Wilbur’s temporary home.

They haven’t left the world yet — not with Dream as admin, overseeing everyone who comes and goes. As much as he hates lying low and waiting, hates the target he can practically _feel_ on his back, it’s best if they give it some time, let people forget they were ever there. The wound is too fresh right now, and though Dream has helped Wilbur in the past, Schlatt doesn’t trust the... thing. He’s not entirely sure _what_ Dream is, exactly, but that doesn’t matter— he still doesn’t trust him.

(Doesn’t trust him near _Wilbur,_ anyway.)

He remembers a time when leaving a world like this undetected would have been child’s play for them. They had played so many games together then, when they were the only ones in each other’s lives, no pesky little mortals muddling into their affairs. His other half would’ve watched as he ripped old worlds apart, new ones already bursting at his fingertips. They had been happy, Schlatt remembers (even if Wilbur never does).

It doesn’t matter anymore.

It was a long, long time ago anyway.

It’ll do him no good to think about their past divinity now— not if he wants to get back by nightfall. Sighing, Schlatt readjusts the bundle of logs and heads back home. As much as he hates dark oak forests, they really are the only things stopping anyone from finding them. In any other terrain, his and Wilbur’s little house would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb to anyone flying around with a trident. The thick canopy hides them away from prying eyes, but it also leaves them vulnerable to a fuck ton of annoying as shit mobs.

He’d light the place up if he wasn’t afraid of burning the entire forest down on accident.

Schlatt perks up as the house comes into view, a cozy square thing with two simple stories and a roof. He would’ve preferred to settle in an actual town or in a different world, if they could get away with it, but right now, they can’t risk being seen. The half-finished fencing around the house makes him nervous though — he had asked Wilbur to make a barrier between them and the mobs early this morning, and the other typically doesn’t leave things unfinished. There’s a reasonable explanation for this, though. There has to be. (Wilbur promised he wouldn’t leave. He _promised._ )

With a shaky breath, he steps into the house. It’s unbearably quiet, everything neat and clean, and it’s making his fur stand on its end. Really, the only thing keeping him from truly losing his shit is the fact that Wilbur’s shoes are still by the door. ”Wil?” Schlatt calls as he gets to the stairs. There’s no response, but he goes up anyway.

The first thing he sees as he climbs the stairs is the lump in their bed, and he all but tosses the bundle of logs onto the floor of their bedroom as his shoulders relax. “Wilbur, you fucking asshole,” he scowls, relief and worry being replaced with indignation. He crosses over, sitting down on the edge of their bed, and places a hand on Wilbur’s leg. The brunette doesn’t react, staring listlessly through a window on the opposite end of the room. “You left the fence half-finished out there. What’s going on, man?”

The silence stretches on for what feels like minutes, before finally, _finally_ Wilbur speaks. “Just thinking.”

“Nugget for your thoughts?”

“...L’manberg,” Of course. He’s having second thoughts, isn’t he? Running away isn’t as glamorous as it was about two weeks ago. He should have seen this coming — Wilbur’s always been fickle, whims changing on a dime like the fish he’s so fond of. “How do you think they’re doing, Schlatt?”

“Does it matter?” He can’t hold back the bite in his voice, doesn’t _want_ to. “You blew it all to hell.”

“I did,” Wilbur agrees softly, still staring out the window. “I blew it up.” He shifts, tucking one arm under the pillow and snuggling deeper into the blanket. All Schlatt can see of him is the top of his head, brown curls fanned out across the pillow like a halo.

“Are you upset that this pet project of yours ended up flopping, Wilbur?”

“It wasn’t a ‘pet project’,” he says hotly, finally turning away from the window to glare at Schlatt. Wilbur’s always been cute when he’s mad, even at his lowest point when he was ranting and raving about blowing up that country of his. (Not that Schlatt minds, of course. Not only is chaos his element, but Wilbur has always looked beautiful in everything he does, from wrecking havoc to writing music to keeping ‘pets’.) “L’manberg was so much more than a pet project.”

“Didn’t it start in a drug van? Because you wanted to sell drugs?”

“Well... yeah, but it changed. It became something more, it became about freedom, about there being a special place where everyone could live freely, live how they _wanted_ to...” Wilbur turns, still looking at Schlatt. “Like what we’re doing now... it strayed from that, though. So I blew it up, and I’d do it again.”

Something in him — tense and coiled and defensive — relaxes at that, and he finds himself kicking off his jeans and slipping under the covers next to Wilbur, even if staying in his sweater is going to make him hot as hell later. His love shifts closer and curls up, staring at him with tired brown eyes. “I don’t want to go back,” he says softly, lacing his fingers into his. The callouses on Wil’s fingers press into his, and it feels almost like yesterday when Wilbur had been getting on that stage and playing that stupidly funny song of his. It felt like home then, with the strum of a guitar and everyone’s laughter and the light of the torches casting the room in a dim, warm glow.

It’s been a long time since he’s heard Wilbur play, and it’s been a long time since he‘s found a place that feels like home.

“What do you want, Wilbur?”

“I just want... I just wanted a place where everyone could live happy. Could live freely.” The brunet’s eyes shift away to look at the blanket, staring at the bunches in the soft wool. “I... it... it was never going to work out, was it, Schlatt? You knew.”

Of course he knew.

The minute he laid eyes on that nation, he knew it was never going to last. It’s the basic principle of business — the people with the money, the people with the _power_ were the ones in control, and L’manberg had neither. He’s sure that Dream could’ve crushed them if he wanted to, _would’ve_ crushed them if it weren’t for the fact that he found them “entertaining”. (Seriously, what a fucking creep. Well, he did work with him, so Schlatt supposes he can’t say anything.)

Wilbur’s always been a bit of an idealist, though, determined to have his way no matter what. He reaps what he sows in the end.

Schlatt doesn’t say any of this, though. Instead he just grips his hand tighter, letting the man lean into his touch and spill his thoughts to him. He doesn’t want to fight with Wilbur right now, just wants to bask in the fact that he’s here. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I just want to stay here with you,” Wilbur whispers, shutting his eyes and leaning into Schlatt. “I’m tired. I’m so tired.”

“Sleep, Wilbur.”

“Please don’t go,” Wilbur begs, quiet and vulnerable and terrified.

 _That’s your thing,_ he wants to say, but he bites his tongue and nods. “I won’t. Go to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.” _I never do._

He doesn’t go to sleep, not at first. He just watches as Wilbur’s eyes close, watches as the frowns and stress lines smooth out as his breathing even outs. The grip on his hand goes slack, pale thin fingers going limp, but he doesn’t let go. He can’t.

Not when it would be so easy for Wilbur to leave and never come back.

* * *

Schlatt wakes up uncomfortably cold, surprisingly enough.

He’s not sure when he fell asleep, but he’s quick to realize why he woke up — his sweater clings to his skin, soaked at the pits and making him shiver, and fuck, he probably should’ve taken it off before getting into bed. Wilbur’s sleeping back faces him, probably having turned in his sleep. The blanket’s been pushed down, the majority of it tangled between Wil’s feet as he sleeps on. Of course _he_ wouldn’t be shivering, even when he’s only in boxers and a thin white shirt.

Schlatt shifts away, tossing his sweater to the floor, completely ready to wrap himself up in the blanket and go back to bed, but Wilbur groans as he tries to steal back the blanket, kicking his arms and dragging the blanket off the bed. _That little fucker—_

Whatever. He doesn’t want to get out of bed. Schlatt wraps an arm around Wilbur’s waist, fully intending to just bury his face into the back of his neck and go back to sleep, but then Wilbur shifts and presses back against him in _just_ the right way and forcing a low moan out. The pressure on his dick after nearly two weeks of going without (setting up a base this nice takes both time and energy, and the stab wound didn’t help much) gives him the beginnings of an erection almost immediately.

Great. Now he’s cold, tired, _and_ half-hard.

He’s about ready to resign himself to jerking off when his eyes catch on the bits of Wilbur’s ass he can see from where his boxers ride up.

...Really, how pissed off would Wilbur be if he just started grinding on him?

Probably not that pissed.

Schlatt lightly grinds his clothed bulge back up against Wilbur’s ass a few times, letting the friction of the thin fabric get the blood pumping. He pauses whenever Wilbur lets out a quiet moan or shifts throughout his slow grinding, the tips of his ear starting to flush red. Schlatt can’t help himself — he leans in and takes the lobe between his teeth, relishing in the way his breath hitches, shaky and quiet.

He slips his boxers off quickly, all but throwing them off the bed. His erection springs out, angry red and hard. This one’s going to be a quick one, he can already tell as he spits into his hand and takes his dick into his hand, fisting it slowly. He could probably get off just staring at Wilbur’s back, at that stupidly bright shade of yellow that rides up, revealing the bandages wrapped around his back, little bits of skin peeking through. His eyes, though, stray to the line between his thighs, and... fuck it, why not?

With slow, careful movements, he drags off Wilbur’s plain cotton boxers, pulling them down to about mid-thigh, and in one fluid motion, he’s slipping his dick into the soft, lukewarm heat.

_”Schlatt...”_

He freezes, staring at Wilbur, but the other doesn’t seem to be showing any sign of waking up, only shifting a bit with a quiet sigh. It takes all of his willpower not to set a fast, quick pace right there; he doesn’t want Wilbur to wake up yet. He wants to bask in the perfection of the body pressed against him, the quiet moans of his name slipping out of his throat. How does Wilbur feel? What sort of wet dream has his brain conjured up?

Christ, Schlatt really wants to see his face. He wants to see all the expressions he’ll make now that he’s at his most vulnerable and can’t hide from him. He wants to see how Wilbur will look, confused and half-asleep as he fucks him, the way his eyes will widen as the realization hits him, too drunk on pleasure to do anything.

Another soft sigh of _”Schlatt...”_ makes him realize that he’s instinctively started to move, slowly brushing up against Wilbur’s balls with every thrust. The sound of skin lightly smacking against skin sounds lewd as hell, his spit only accentuating it. It feels heavenly, the way his dick disappears into the junction of Wilbur’s thighs, pillowy and soft in spite of how lean he is. It’d be even better if it were just a bit tighter, but he’ll settle for this.

“...Schlatt?” He keeps moving, arms wrapped around Wilbur’s chest as he continues to thrust, completely focused on the pleasure— “Schlatt.” Two hands claw at his sleeved arms, forcing him to slow down, and then Schlatt comes face to face with a very disgruntled Wilbur. ”...couldn’t you have waited?”

“Nope,” he says, punctuating it with a rough grind that forces a sharp gasp from the brunet’s mouth. He’s still half-asleep, Schlatt realizes, his mind desperately leaping hurdles to try and catch up to everything that’s going on. (A part of Schlatt doesn’t want him to, wants to keep him in a pliant, half-conscious state where he’d be forced to take whatever’s given to him... but he’ll shelve that for now.) “Want me to stop?”

Wilbur hums, less indignant now that he’s a little bit more alert. “No,” he decides, squeezing his thighs around Schlatt’s dick, and he can barely bite back the groan that forms in the back of his throat. “Keep going. S’nice.”

Well, if he’s asking so nicely...

Schlatt continues to slide in and out of the (now much tighter) junction of his thighs, though he reaches one hand around to pump Wilbur’s growing erection. The brunet groans quietly, trembling in his arms, ears and cheeks completely flushed red. The collar of his yellow sweater slips down, and Schlatt mouths kisses across his pale skin, letting his teeth graze but never actually biting down.

They’re never usually this quiet, but maybe it’s because of the early hours of the morning, or the sleepiness still clinging to them even now, but Schlatt decides he doesn’t really mind. It’s not an unwelcome change — as much as he loves Wilbur’s begging, the quiet gasps and moans slipping out of his mouth are just as nice. This feels dirtier than anything else they’ve ever done, somehow, the squelch of his spit slicked dick going in and out, pumping Wilbur’s erection in his hand as the other falls apart, bucking and rutting with every flick of his thumb across his tip.

“Schlatt,” Wilbur says, turning to look at him. He looks debauched, lips swollen and shiny from his spit, a flush on his face as he trembles in his arms. Wilbur could probably ask him for anything right now, could ask him to kill everyone in this damn place and drown them in lava, and Schlatt would do it for him. “Schlatt, I’m close.”

“Go ahead and cum,” he replies, not pausing his clip. He wants to say more, wants to make a quip about lazy morning sex, but he doesn’t want to break the sort of silent spell over the both of them.

He all but feels it when Wilbur cums. Warm cum spills into his hand and onto their sheets, pale thighs tightening like a vice around his dick. Schlatt fists him through it, up until he’s limp and twitching in his grasp, on the cusp of overstimulation. ”You good, Wil?”

“Mhm,” he nods, and Schlatt bites back a curse as Wilbur suddenly bucks, the pressure and the slide nearly making him cum right there. “Don’t move, I wanna make you cum.”

“I can just—“

“Think of it as an apology,” Schlatt digs his fingers into Wilbur’s sides as he moves again, a moan tumbling out of his throat. “For earlier.” Well, he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

It’s an embarrassingly quick affair. He’s too strung out, pent up and ready to cum for a while now, and it only takes a few more bucks from Wilbur to make him fall apart. He cums in between the cushion of Wilbur’s thighs, burying his face in the back of his neck as he moans. It’s not earth-shattering in any way, but with Wilbur in his arms, it might as well be. For a good few minutes (hours? days?), he just stays there, clinging to him.

All good things come to an end, however, and Wilbur shifts out of his arm, pushing him away and turning to face him. A bit of cum leaks out of his thighs as he moves. They’re really going to have to wash these sheets... but that’s a problem for future Schlatt.

“So... any reason you couldn’t wait ‘till I was awake?” Wilbur asks, though there’s no heat, only a mix of amusement and confusion in his eyes. The little shit is definitely going to bring this up again whenever he can to get what he wants, and Schlatt’ll probably let him. He’s always been a bit weak when it comes to Wilbur.

“Nah, just felt like it,” he says, “Want to stay in bed for the rest of the day?” He doesn’t particularly feel like getting up.

“Only if we clean up first. I’m not waking up to crusty cum between my legs.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Schlatt says, but he’s getting up and tossing the pillows off the bed anyway. Wilbur barks out a laugh, smacking him lightly on the arm.

It’s nice, even if the voice in the back of his head keeps whispering that it‘ll never last.

**Author's Note:**

> This had a completely different plot when I first wrote it, but food poisoning made me change my mind lmao 
> 
> ^^ yeah sorry this was meant to be posted a while ago , I’m just a dumbass who gave myself food poisoning, and then I had to spend the week catching up on all my work rippp
> 
> Not tagging this one as bottom Wil bc idk it doesn’t feel like it fits? But who knows


End file.
